


Cutting Edge

by Thymelady



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Abbie Mills Is Working It, Abbie mentioned throughout, F/M, Forever, Ichabbie Weekend, She is always with him, a hairy situation, angsty, ichabbie - Freeform, time to make a sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 05:53:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7964983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thymelady/pseuds/Thymelady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichabod in a hairy situation. What really happened in Scotland pre-season 3, and the sacrifice it took to get what he wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cutting Edge

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't the ficlet/drabble I intended to write, but it's the one the muse insisted on. Written for #IchabbieWeekend and #AbbieMillsIsWorkingIt 
> 
> Ichabbie forever. They will always be Sleepy Hollow.

"I need to get that curse breaker!" He almost yelled at the odd old woman at the well. Was she a witch? Or even a demon? He didn't care. He knew there was something in his empty tomb that he needed. It was the answer he sought. It was the way back, to home. To her.

The witch only laughed and pointed at him. He got more and more furious. She had been laughing and pointing at him for almost an hour. It was some riddle, but he couldn't understand it. He wanted to scream in frustration. 

"WHAT DO YOU NEED ME TO DO?! WHAT DO YOU NEED FROM **ME**??" he roared. 

Still the endless laughter and her finger pointing at his head. 

The cliff was windy, overlooking the roaring Atlantic Sea. He turned to it in frustration and screamed out to the heavens. His voice drowned in the noise. But still, he heard the witch's annoying laughter.

He turned to her again. 

"WHAT? **WHAT?!** What sacrifice or token do you demand?? I'm at my wits end! I am ready to pull my hair!" 

Just like that, all went silent. Wind, sea, even the witch was silent and grinned at him with round, expectant eyes.

"My - my hair?" he stuttered and swallowed. He was surprised, more than anything. He had had question from many about hair and clothes in this century. From her. From her sister. From Brits that he had met this day and age. He was fond of his hair. But how fond? 

"How much of it?" he asked sharply.

The witch made a gesture that seemed to indicate that she wanted his ponytail, maybe more. 

He needed what was in that tomb, which wasn't his tomb. It was his destiny, after all. Hair would grow back. And he would have a valid reason to go back home. Home to her.

"Do you have a pair of scissors?" he asked seriously. But they were already in the witch's hand. She knew he would agree.

He took the scissors and went to the edge of the cliff, facing west. Facing home. A large ocean in between. But not a three month sea voyage anymore. Mere hours stuck in a horrible airplane. With sheared hair. But then he would be home. Home with her. 

The ponytail came off with some quick, determined snips.


End file.
